The Three Heads Affair
by Svetlanacat
Summary: A small city has been destryed... and there is this scale...


Alexander Waverly considered his two agents for awhile. Napoleon Solo was apparently relaxed, but his eyes were sparkling in anticipation. Illya Kuryakin was leaning on his elbows, playing with the bows of his glasses. He pushed a photo towards them.

Napoleon frowned. "What is this? What happened?"

There were ruins, shattered houses, black stripes of what looked like to be soot, burned skeletons of what had been trees, and three strange veins of a translucent stuff.

Waverly pushed another photo. A village, pretty cottages, gardens, huge old trees...  
"What happened, Mr Solo?" Alexander Waverly waved his pipe, "It burned. Why? How? This is what you'll have to clear up. This..." He tapped on the second picture, "This was just a scenery, an abandoned small town refitted in order to look like an English village." He knitted his eyebrows. "Next time..."  
Illya Kuryakin kept strangely silent, studying the two pictures. His finger ran along the three veins as he was assessing their width, the distance between each of them.

"Is this... chemical?" Napoleon asked.

"Glass" The Russian stated

"Glass?"

"Yes... Do you know about fulgurites? They are natural hollow glass tubes formed in sand or soil by lightning strikes with a temperature of at least... 3,270°F." He paused, still watching the photo.

"At least 3.270 °F?" Napoleon peeped at his chief inquiringly. Illya would have usually inflicted on them a long, very precise and very technical presentation. And just... "At least 3,270 °F". The Old Man didn't move.

"Illya? These are... fulgurites?"

His partner shook his head thoughtfully. "No. Fulgurites are just glass tubes. This... this is different. Soil vitrified... as if a permanent lightning had hit it."

And again, silence.

Napoleon grimaced. Thrush. Who else? They had designed a new doom device and the fake village had been their guinea pig...

"The beam stroke three times... This... this was a test..."

"No." Same unusual brevity.

"Mr. Kuryakin?"

Napoleon skipped a beat. Waverly's tone wasn't inquiring. It was like he already knew the fact and just ask his agent to express it.  
Illya pointed at the distance between the veins.

"Look at the entanglement. Debris stand against debris. It was simultaneous."

Solo froze, realizing the extent of the damage.

"The machine... It must be so huge. How could it happen our radars didn't notice it?"  
'It isn't a machine." The Russian's eyes had turned pale gray. He repeated, "It isn't a machine. The three lines aren't parallel. You see?" He pointed at some scattered houses. "Could we have this enlarged, sir?"

To Napoleon's surprise, Waver nodded and took another photo out of the file. Illya picked up a pencil.

"Look." He underlined the contour line of the ruins. "This... this is a paw."

"A... paw?" The older agent choked. "Are you kidding?" Then he considered the image and raised an eyebrow. A paw. Surely not. Just a vague triangle and three long...fingers. Claws?

The image of a three-heads alien spitting lightning occurred to his mind. Poppycock!

"It's a pure chance, Illya. You don't believe in flying saucers, do you?"

Illya Kuryakin was lost in thought.

"Sir..." It sounded like a plea, but Waverly kept his eyes on his Russian agent. Suddenly, he bent down, picked a large fabric bag and put it carefully on the table. In the bag, there was something rather flat, wrapped in tissue paper. The Old Man took it off and motioned his agents to come closer.

A very strange thing.

Its shape reminded of a ginkgo leaf. It was green, blue-green, with hints of golden. A bright color, almost... living. The matter... kind of mother-of-pearl, Napoleon thought, slightly translucent...

"It's a lens." He suggested.

"A scale." Illya hissed.

"Yes. Undoubtedly... a scale, young men."

***  
"A scale!" Napoleon muttered. A trick, yes. An evil trick. Somewhere, Thrushies were probably enjoying themselves. Worse. They'd die laughing at the thought of the two UNCLE top agents rummaging through debris, looking for... Oh, God... How could Waverly... How could Illya, this cold, scientific, rational mind...

The Russian crouched down to take a close look to the milky veins. "At least..." He shook his head. "Next time, it will be a real place. It will kill people."

"No, of course not, Illya. Thrush wouldn't run the risk. This was a test. Devastating a small town? No. It would draw our attention!"

"They already did it."

Napoleon bit his lips. Yes, yes they already did it... But... "They wouldn't do this here, in the U.S., t_ovarish"_  
Illya Kuryakin's lips curled in a bitter smile. "You're right. **Thrush **wouldn't..." He picked up something and stood up straight. "Look..." It was a small shard of this strange blue-green stuff, glowing by the sunlight. "Its owner will."

"Oh, please, stop it now! Dragons, dragons spitting fire don't exist. They're legends. They're myths. You can't seriously..." He realized that his partner didn't pay any attention. Illya had taken a map from their car and spread it out on the ground. "We're here... and the closest inhabited place is... Yes. It's a small military base." He looked at his partner, "It must be evacuated, Napoleon. Before sunset."

"Oh..." An aggravated Solo sneered. "Dragons are "crrrreaturrrres of ze nite"?  
Illya sighed, "They like twilight and dawn best... We must evacuate those people."

"No, Illya, no. I won't ask about that. It's ridiculous. Anyway, he wouldn't... What are you doing?"

***  
How could Waverly... How could Illya...? Napoleon leaned back against the car, considering the deserted base. He felt like he was the only one having common sense.

Illya had called Waverly.

Waverly had given orders.

The base had been evacuated.

They were waiting for the most improbable attack launched by the most improbable enemy.

A dragon.

Two UNCLE agents, Napoleon Solo and Illya Kuryakin verses ... a dragon.

Great.

By reflex, he checked his gun.

"It won't be any use, Napoleon." Illya opened the trunk, taking out a bag and a long and narrow case.

"And, please, could you tell me how we're supposed to fight a dragon?"

The Russian threw his jacket in the car and put on a blue tunic with strange golden patterns.

"Illya... What..." Napoleon was at a loss.

His partner lifted the lid of the case. "A sword, Napoleon. A sword is the only way to fight a dragon."

A long, slightly bent like a scimitar sword. Its blade sparkled and two dragons' heads formed its pommel.  
A sword. Of course. He took a deep breath.

"Okay. Where is mine?"

Illya Kuryakin shook his head. "No. It's my fight, Napoleon. It's what I'm here for."

"But..."  
The Russian put a finger on his lips. "Shhh... Listen."

First, there was a distant thunder. Then, he heard flapping, rustles, and the thunder was closer and closer. Illya's eyes sparkled strangely.

"Get in the car, Napoleon. NOW!"  
There was no point in arguing. He complied.

Then the dragon appeared.

Because, yes, it was a dragon. Not a machine. A dragon.

It was huge, incredibly silent, suddenly, gliding over the base. A blue-green, glowing creature, which landed lithely though it caused the ground to quake. Its back paws crushed buildings. It had three long undulating necks and three heads seeking a prey. It was beautiful and it was obviously clever. Very clever.

It was... it was smirking? At least, one of the heads was, as it was studying the ridiculously small silhouette and his ridiculously small sword, who was walking towards it. The two other heads were watching around.

"_змій_ _Горинич_ !"1 Illya Kuryakin shouted.

_Zmey Gorynych…? Dragon Gorynych?_

The smirk turned to a fixed grin. It talked, Napoleon realized. It was a mix of whispered and hissed sounds but he identified old Ukrainian language. It talked about damned _bogatyrs_2 , _Добры́ня Ники́тич__2_ and revenge...

Suddenly, the left head spit fire which Illya dodged easily. Napoleon leaped out of the car and shot it, again and again, but the scales deflected the bullets. He ducked and took shelter behind a wall.

The creature spit fire, its three heads drawing blazing lines on the ground. The blond silhouette was dancing in rhythm, his sword fighting the flames, lashing the air. It lasted for minutes? Hours?  
Suddenly, Illya literally leaped on the dragon, riding the furious creature as if it were a wild horse. In a perfect move, he stood up, brandished the sword and cut the three necks, simultaneously. In a dazzling, deafening explosion, all blue, green, golden and red, all hell broke loose.

***

Napoleon Solo grimaced, hesitated and eventually choose to keep his eyes closed. Perhaps everything would be nice enough to stop whirling around him.

"Napoleon?"

"Please... lower. Please..."

He heard a chuckle.

"Drink this."

A hand helped him to sit straight on the chair. He half opened his eyes. Well, only the table and the glass were swaying.  
"Where...?"

"At my home. Drink this."

"What..."

Chuckle, again. "I left you in the car for one hour next to the gypsy camp and when I came back, you were sitting on the ground, talking nonsense and waving a cup."  
_Talking nonsense? About what?_

"Tea. The old lady, she told me it was tea."

Illya tilted his head, obviously enjoying the moment. "Tea, of course, tea... Very, very special tea..."

Napoleon rested his chin in his palm. "She told me about... tarot."

"Tarot?" The Russian rolled his eyes. "She told you the future?"

"No.. Yes…" He hesitated. "And... Where is my jacket? She gave me... She gave me tarot cards. They're in my pocket. Look, please..."

In the pocket, there were tarot cards. Two cards.

The Hanged Man and The Judgment.

Two beautiful cards adorned with... dragons.

_Dragons._

_Oh, God... Dragons. He would hear about if for years._

"These are interesting cards. Why did she gave you these?" Illya was studying them with interest.

"It was... " Napoleon tried to concentrate, "I think it was about sacrificing oneself for knowledge or for a cause... and this one... it's about rebirth... forgiving, recognizing that the past is the past and..."  
Illya tapped on his friend's shoulder.

"Yes, _tovarish,_ yes... Now, you'll have a shower. Then I'll take you to your home."  
"But…"  
"Go!" The Russian pointed at the bathroom.

_Sacrificing oneself for knowledge or for a cause._  
_Recognizing that the past is the past._  
Illya listened at the sound coming from the bathroom and smiled. He wiped carefully the long and shiny blade, put it back in its case and pushed it under his bed.  
Some things were better left unsaid.

1  wiki/Slavic_dragon  
2  wiki/Dobrynya_Nikitich


End file.
